After a very anticipated count down, everyday my excitement level jumped, Em and I finally packed our bags and walked to the Immigration office ready to start our two long day journey to Salvador. In the short walk through town I was overcome by the sense that I am no longer a resident of PG but just one more white person passing through. I have tried hard to fight that image but because of my skin color and big pack, I was once again a walking dollar sign, or so my paranoid mind thought. I was not worried for my safety but rather what I represent.
We boarded the Water Taxi that took us across our little stretch of the Caribbean to Puerto Barrios, Guatemala. The trip takes about an hour and the whole time I sat in silence trying to process what was going on. My mind raced as we skipped (read: slammed) across the water. It is important to note that behind us sat a few Peace Corps volunteers who the whole ride talked about "How hard it is being here" and "How life is America is so much better" and my favorite "We ONLY make this much money here, and the $6,000 they give us to get resettled in America is not enough" (It is important to note that PCVs make about 4 times as much money as JVs do a month and JVs don't receive a "readjustment allowance"). Emily and I just smiled knowingly to one another with the very clear divide nearly palpable between us and them. We were not just two white people on vacation but rather two seekers on a pilgrimage. Witnesses to the lives of men slain for their outspoken defense of the poor.
We spent the night in Puerto Barrios which is loud, bright, very dirty, Spanish speaking, quite dangerous and overall not appealing. I use the term ("spent the night"loosely...we had a 4am bus) We boarded our bus in the wee hours, having not slept much and made the 6 hour journey to Guatemala City. Guatemala is an enormous sprawling metropolis. We were driving for about 40 minutes within the city limits. Surrounded by the Spanish banter of old women selling fruit and tamales we got off the bus into.. dare I say it... chilly weather. A pleasant surprise! The next bus we needed to catch was at noon. Our taxi driver, Hector, told us... well told Emily (my terrible high school Spanish made traveling through Central America an issue.) That he could drive us to the Salvadoran border by noon, essentially saving us 2 hours. We thought about it, and seeing that we did not have to pay to leave Belize OR enter Guatemala (saving us about 50 American dollars!) We decided to splurge and take Hector up on his offer. I tried my best to become his friend with my basic Spanish, my theory is... who kidnaps their friends? We made it to the border caught a bus and made our way to San Salvador.
We made it to our destination. Extremely tired, by this point we had been up for about 17 hours. I ran into some kids from Carroll which was neat and my dear friend Lauren who is a JV in Nicaragua. Lauren walked me to the UCA (Universidad Centroamericana) the place where the Jesuits were killed. Lauren accompanied me to the Romero Center, the site of the infamous Rose Garden, we entered just before they closed at dusk, adding a dramatic sunset to an already moving experience. I was exhausted, covered in dirt, carrying my heavy pack and upon walking into the famous rose garden where 20 years prior the priests were dragged and systematically shot in the head, I was overcome with emotion and started crying. Here grow flowers from a patch of grass fertilized by the blood of men bearing witness to justice and human rights.
It was all too much for me, here I am a young man attempting to bear witness to the struggle of the poor in Central America at the place Jesuits were martyred for a similar goal. Oppression and injustice is not some abstract political jargon but rather a harsh reality of the worlds poor and marginalized.
I then sat in the room where the house keeper and her daughter were also killed. Innocence. Lives taken for no reason. The daughter, a 17 year old was going to be married not long after, however she became one of the 75,000 people killed during the war in her tiny broken country. All I could think about was her poor fiance. (the husband/ father of the women was the groundskeeper and the man who planted the roses).
I was extremely emotional and promised myself I would come back the next day once I had rested to pay a proper respects. I met up with Fr. Paul the man I would be staying with, a Cleveland diocesan priest, who I was referred to from a friend of a friend. Fr. Paul lives in La Libertad, an area to the south of San Salvador on the pacific ocean. Fr. Paul lived in El Salvador during the 70s- 80s during the war. He not only lived in El Salvador during war but was much more involved than I expected... as I came to find out. Paul was working back in Cleveland and asked to spend the rest of his life in El Salvador rather than as he said " die in some home, bored and alone". I knew from the start Paul and I were going to hit it off.
The following morning I took the bus 45 minutes from Libertad to San Salvador. Which was a terrifying, amazing adventure in it self. The bus system is San Salvador is one of the most unsafe places to be for a Gringo, in one of the most unsafe cities (once again my broken shitty Spanish... not helpful.) One would think that after living in Central America for multiple months that he would be used to feeling out of place, but let me tell you. Doesn't go away... that feeling of "Wow I am out of place, 3 feet taller than most people here... and everyone in the whole place is staring at me".
I was taking the bus to hear Dean Brackley SJ speak at the UCA. It was well worth the very scary 45 min bus ride. He is an exceptional man. Brackley was teaching at Fordhamin 1989 and upon hearing his brother Jesuits were killed over the weekend in Salvador he packed his bags and asked... "who is taking my classes for me on Monday?" and as swift as that, moved to El Salvador. Has been there ever since. Dean said " to combat poverty we need to make this the century of solidarity, we need to globalize the practice of love". I walked away inspired and enlightened. That evening I attended a backyard mass with about 80-100 of people between the ages of 17-26(the Casa program is an immersion/ study abroad program in El Salvador. Emily went for the reunion and I tagged along. Casa was atarted by two former JVs from Belize). Despite the fact it was in Spanish I was blown away by the Mass. All I could think was "yes.. this is the church. Young, vibrant, committed to social justice and solidarity to the poor". Fr. Paul and I spent the next day together, laughing talking with a lot of questions from me, answers from him. We had a long conversation about how religion makes so much more sense down here, it is simple, and vivid, and true to the condition of the people. He laughed and told me his first sermon back in the States, after living in Salvador for 5 years, was something a long these lines " I love you all... but I wanted to let you know, you are all going to hell" haha He is a great man. I was extremely grateful I had the opportunity to spend a week with such a social justice titan. Fr. Paul has done so much for so many people, and is so quick to brush off any praise or compliments... constantly telling me, it is what was needed to be done. The next day at dinner Paul and I were talking about the War years... something I was asking him about all week. He was slow to open up and I now understand why. Those killed and tortured were not random priests or random Salvadorans he read about in the news. These were his friends. He worked closely with Archbishop Romero, meeting once a week with him. Ruttlio Grande was going to say mass for Paul the week before he was killed. The Maryknoll Sisters that were raped and killed... were leaving the airport to drive to meet up with Paul. He was the one to report them missing. He was not simply in El Salvador during the violence, he was in the crossfire. At point I asked him... " Father, knowing myself, if my friends were being shot, raped and kidnapped.... I would have the urge to radicalize, did you feel that at all?" He responded with a completely straight face, " I could have picked up a gun, but what would that have changed? But I did what was going to make a change, I kept teaching. That's what the Salvadorans needed, not more violence, but education and love." Fr. Paul is incredible. Liberation through education. I knew this weekend was going to be epic but did not for see my relationship with a man I had never met meaning so much to me.
The following day I went to the Vigilia for the men and women murdered. It started with a candle lit walk around the campus. There were close to 15,000 people there from around the world to bear witness to the lives and work of those men and women. It was an honor to be among their numbers. I walked with Fr. Jeff and Fr. Brian... a few of the Jesuits from Belize that also made the trip (they flew haha). After the walk there was a Mass for all those attending, including about 50 priests cocelebrating.
I have been so impressed by the Salvadoran people, a people who seem to constantly seem to get rolled over with violence and injustice and yet a people that soldier on. They pick themselves and each other up and walk on. So inspiring. The following day Fr. Dick, Fr. Brian, Emily and myself went to the church where Archbishop Oscar Romero was gunned down. Another person killed for their outspoken defense of the poor. It was one of the most impressive weeks of my life. Reaffirmed all that I feel about my small place in the world. Reaffirmed my work in Belize. Reaffirmed in me that living the Gospel message is not something nice hear on Sunday mornings, but rather a radical counter cultural commitment to the poor and to fight oppression in all its forms.
( I have much more to say about El Salvador but that will do for now)
"What I can do, you can not.
What you can do, I can not.
But together, we can do something beautiful for God"
- Mother Theresa
"The struggle against injustice
and the pursuit of truth
cannot be separated nor can one
work for one independent of the other."
Ignatio Ellacuría, S.J.
Murdered superior of Jesuit community
